


to keep the goddess on my side (she demands a sacrifice)

by mindelan



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, geralt worships yen bc it's what she deserves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:08:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22217551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mindelan/pseuds/mindelan
Summary: Worship,Yennefer thinks he means to say, because right now Geralt looks an awful lot like a devotee kneeling down before a goddess's altar.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 28
Kudos: 355





	to keep the goddess on my side (she demands a sacrifice)

**Author's Note:**

> can't believe that the first thing i've written for this fandom is smut
> 
> title is from "take me to church" by hozier because honestly it's the perfect song for any smutty piece bye
> 
> i tagged this with the tv show mainly because i'm working my way through tw3 right now and the only thing i've seen in its entirety is the netflix show. HOWEVER it isn't really set in a specific time or place so it can be read whichever way you'd like

“You’ve been hunched over that book all day.” 

“Have I?” she replies absently, not bothering to look up from the page until she feels broad, calloused settle on her shoulders, rubbing circles in the tense muscles in her shoulders and neck. She sighs, leaning back in her chair slightly but not moving away. “I really need to finish this, Geralt.” 

“What you need is a break,” he murmurs in reply, the low rasp of his voice sending shivers up and down her spine. “The candles have long since burned down. Come to bed.” 

“I will once I finish,” she says, though she can’t deny the idea is tempting. Usually, it’s the other way around, with her propositioning him when he’s otherwise occupied, but she doesn’t mind the change in roles. 

“C’mon, Yen,” he breathes, scraping his teeth gently down her neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses as he does. Despite her best efforts to hold out, she melts under his touch, heat pooling in her core with each brush of his lips. “Take a break. Your work will still be there in the morning.” 

And damn if he isn’t usually right. 

“Oh, what the hell,” she mutters, shutting the book with a definitive slam, letting him tug her around and up out of her chair with a crooked smile. “You better make it worth my time, witcher.” 

He hums in response, gathering her in his arms and pulling her close. One of his hands slides down to the small of her back, fingers splayed. The other goes to her cheek, cupping her face with familiar, tender affection. In the dim lighting of the room, his eyes look like warm honey; as soft as he is with her, she knows his strength, knows the power that can come coiled loose with one flick of his wrist. 

(It turns her on more than she’d ever admit. That silent danger she knows all too well. Monster recognizes monster, after all.)

“Oh, I will,” he growls, squeezing her tighter. She curls her hand in the light fabric of his shirt, pleased that he’s already taken off his armor. “Let me take care of you, Yen.” 

At that, she arches an eyebrow. “I quite like the sound of that.” 

“Good.” With careful, practiced ease he lifts her up into his arms. Instinctively, she wraps her legs around his waist and grinds her hips against his; a satisfied smirk curling on her face when a moan slips from his throat. 

“Minx,” he growls, setting her gently down on the bed. When she scoots back up towards the headboard, he follows, eyes glinting as he looks her up and down. “What am I going to do with you?” 

“You love it.” 

“I do,” he agrees. He sits up on his knees, straddling her hips as she lays beneath him, reaching forward to tug at the ties on her chest that keep her nightgown together. One pull and her whole body is exposed. “Can I take this off?” 

“Be my guest,” she purrs. “And lose the shirt off while you’re at it.”

In one swift motion, Geralt does as told; she watches unabashedly as his abdomen muscles flex, and wants nothing more than to sit up and kiss him senseless, to push him back and take control – 

And then his hands are on her laces before she can do anything else, untying the front and pushing the material off of her chest and to the sides. She eases up on her elbows and pulls the sleeves down her arms, shimmying her upper half out of the gown and lays back down, completely exposed. 

All Geralt can do is look at her, eyes darkening significantly at the sight of her bare. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, jaw flexing. He’s a man of very few words, her witcher, but she can read exactly what’s written all over his face. He wants her. She wants him, too.

“Well?” she says, arching her back slightly, dragging her fingertips over her chest and watching as his gaze follows the movement. “I thought you said you were going to take care of me.” 

Instead of responding, he leans down and kisses her hard on the lips. Yennefer surges up to meet him, hands cupping his cheeks, fingers combing through his long hair and pulling him closer and closer. One of his arms bands around her back, holding her closer to him so there’s less strain on her back. Her beautiful, thoughtful man.

Slowly, his lips move from her mouth to her jaw, nipping and biting in the way she likes as he goes down her neck, to her collarbone. There will be marks and bruises on her skin tomorrow, but she doesn’t mind in the slightest. Nothing that make-up can’t cover in the morning if she feels inclined to hide the evidence. 

He lays her back against the bed, eyes hooded as he moves down to her chest. Her back arches when he latches onto one of her breasts, a hand moving to the other to ensure that neither goes unattended. Her back arches, nipples pebbling, goosebumps erupting over her flesh.

At his ministrations – at his skillful tongue and fingers – small, breathy moans escape her lips and heat pools between her legs, thighs rubbing together to try and ease the pressure. With anyone else, she would have been horrified at the level of vulnerability she’s displaying, but no one else hears her noises; they’re for his ears only. 

When he shifts his attention lower and lower, her muscles stiffen in anticipation. He teases her, laving attention on her abdomen, on her stomach. Special care is given to the scar on her side where Sabrina had stabbed her. By the look in his eyes, she can tell his mind is elsewhere – on the amount of blood she had lost, on how she nearly hadn’t survived Sodden. 

“I’m here, Geralt,” she murmurs softly, sitting up slightly to run soothing fingers through his hair. “I’m alive. I’m not going anywhere.” 

“You’re strong,” he murmurs, voice like gravel. Gently, oh so gently, he kisses the ugly scar the injury left behind, one that she’d decided to leave on her skin forever, matching the twin scars on her wrists. “So fucking strong.” 

She _knows_ she’s strong – has had to be to survive the life she’s had – but her face softens to hear him say it. Unable to properly voice her reaction, she instead weaves her fingers through his hair and gently pushes his head down to where she wants it. 

That earns her a chuckle, vibrations echoing through her skin when he laughs against her thigh. “Be patient,” he tells her, grinning when she swipes at him in mock-irritation. “I’m trying to take care of you.” 

_Worship,_ Yennefer thinks he means to say, because right now Geralt looks an awful lot like a devotee kneeling down before a goddess' altar.

“You can take care of me by putting your mouth on my – _Geralt!”_

His tongue licks a path up her slit, broad and warm, the sensation making her toes curl. All too satisfied with himself, he looks up at her with a crooked grin, her slick shining on his mouth. “Yes?” 

She scowls, already missing his touch. “Get back to work, witcher.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” He lifts both of her calves and rests them on his shoulders, settling back down with his head even with her core. True to his word, he gets back to business, alternating between long licks and small flicks of his tongue against her clit, building up the fire in her core to an almost unbearable heat. His stubble scrapes deliciously against the insides of her thighs, leaving red marks in his wake; it’ll be a pleasant reminder to wake up to tomorrow. 

When a finger presses into her, rocking gently, she keens with head thrown back against the mattress, baring her neck. One of her hand grips the sheets beneath her, nails tearing through the material with the strength of her hold; the other pressing the back of his head where she wants it. 

A second finger, both curling and pulsing in tandem with each other – and oh, she’s close, she’s so close, practically sobbing that out to him. He reaches up and intertwines their hands, letting her squeeze his palm with a white-knuckled grip. Her eyes squeeze shut, white sparks blooming beneath her eyelids. His fingers reach deeper and her walls flutter around him, close, so _close!_ – the pressure inside of her cunt is as tight as a bowstring – and when his lips close over her clit and he sucks once, then twice – 

the string _snaps_ and she comes with a cry of his name, panting and gasping and chest heaving and _stars above,_ she can’t remember the last time she’s come that hard, can’t remember the last time she’s felt so fucking relaxed.

Carefully, Geralt extracts himself and moves up to where she’s laying, pulling her to this chest. She tucks herself into his neck as she comes down, closing her eyes and focusing on her breathing until it’s returned to its usual rate. 

It’s only then that she realizes that he isn’t fully naked, feeling the hard length of him pressed against her thigh. When she reaches for his pants, however, he gently removes her hand from his waistband. “This wasn’t for me, Yen.” 

She frowns. “You don’t want. . .?” 

He shakes his head. “Not tonight.” 

“I’ll get you back in the – ” she yawns, scowling when he huffs out a laugh because of it. Her eyes slip closed; she’s so tired she doesn’t bother fighting it. “In the morning.” 

“For now, sleep,” he murmurs, gentle lips pressing a kiss to her sweat-soaked forehead. His hand rubs a soothing path up and down her back, lulling her into a sense of calm and safety. “Get some rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

(He is, just as he said he would be. He’s true to his word, her witcher.)

**Author's Note:**

> the hope is to write more for this fandom/pairing but for now take this :>
> 
> find me on tumblr at [vanderlinde](https://vanderlinde.tumblr.com)


End file.
